I released a sigh. “That’s all I want, Mrs. Frasier.”
“You can call me Patricia.”
Not a fool, I was quick to nod. “Thank you.”
As she cut into the sourdough, she mused, “Something happened at the house. Something… outside the gates. Don’t worry. They’ll be closed the next time you’re on the island. Locked away forever. The memories won’t fade, but at least you won’t come face-to-face with them whenever you go home.”
I stiffened.
A vision?
The man of science knew clairvoyance was bullshit, but the Sicilian in me didn’t like to take any chances.
Not when she’d just prodded an open wound—Patri’s body had been dumped outside the gates of our estate in Catania.
Every time I passed through them, I looked anywhere but at that spot where his crumpled form had been discovered.
Tone gentle when I saw how dazed she was, I asked, “Patricia?”
Blinking, she continued as if she hadn’t said anything at all, her tone brisker, “Now, how can I help?”
Two hours later, the store had installed a screen the size of the back wall in Patricia’s living room, Dippin’ Dots were chilling in the freezer, hot dogs were broiling, the air scented of fresh popcorn, and I’d bought out the local bodega’s selection of chips.
Kitty groused about the game starting and having to miss the first period, and yet she still let me carry her downstairs when I told her Patricia had made us dinner.
The stress of the last two hours, a stress partially founded in Patricia’s vision, was worth it when the ‘Hockey Night in America’ on PSN theme tune blasted from the screen and myangel shrieked as the walls themselves vibrated thanks to the surround sound system I’d also had installed.
She nearly tumbled from my arms in her haste to see what was going on. “Oh, my god! What did you do?!”
“I’ll forgive you the blasphemy this once, Catriona,” Patricia chided, but she was beaming over by the kitchen door, where she held a bowl of popcorn as large as her in her hands. “Now, come and look what Stan has done for you.”
Kitty screeched when she saw the new sofa as well as the two recliners I’d bought—one for her and the other for Patricia.
“You did this for me?” she squealed.
Dopily, I grinned at her. “If I can’t take you to the game… then I’ll bring it to you.”
Her eyes widened all the more, excitement filtering through them. She was so pretty in that moment. The patchy yellow and green bruises didn’t diminish her beauty any. Neither did the split in her lip or the myriad mostly healed cuts and scrapes.
“They’re about to drop the puck!” she squeaked, wiggling out of my embrace and plopping her butt in one of the recliners.
Patricia shot me a smile. “That’s it. You’ve lost her interest until intermission.”
“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
Her lips curved. “You want a hot dog or a burger?”
“Whatever’s easiest.”
“If you can makethishappen for my girl, Stan, then I can fix you a burger. So, burger or hot dog?”
“Burger, please,” I said sheepishly. “With the cheese from before?”
“Take the other recliner. I can’t watch this fool game. All that ice gives me a headache.”
She shooed me away and I let her. It had been a helluva day and this was rushed as fuck, but…worth it.
For that smile, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do.
